I did not grow up with Autumn. To me, autumn memories began in late teens in college in upstate New York. That is quintessential fall-y place. The local used bookstore, anchoring a pedestrian shopping district, was even named Autumn Leaves.
To me, a sign of fall is on highway roadsides. That is when the dips between road berm and private property line bloom with the goldenrod, New Englad Aster, milkweed, and Queen Anne's lace. Fall is gold, purple, green, brown, and white.
Goldenrod is the main character. It's dozen of varieties, differentiated by nuances like number of leaves or how flowers are arranged, dominate the landscape below the changing trees. Their paintbrush flowers sway back and forth as the cars swoosh past.
The brightest is New England aster. It's neon hum purple feels out of place. Sometimes tiny white fleabanes pop out from under looking like first drafts of daisy flowers.
Milkweed either looks unassuming or just loud. When loud it can be gross. Are the leaves covered in the frass scat of Monarch caterpillars? Milky sap from leaf joints pouring out? Are the pods about to burst or have them spent themselves throwing thousands of prayers into the wind? They are brown and pale green looking ready for the long sleep.
I like when the Queen Anne's lace balls back up into a fist. The flowers dry up and curl unto themselves to wave menacingly at the creeping chill.
No comments:
Post a Comment